It was becoming clear to him, however, that she was very intelligent, indeed. And he thought he remembered his sister once telling him that she was an avid reader.

And probably a discriminating one as well.wI think the bleeding is slowing down," she was saying as she wrapped the fresh napkin around his hand.wIn fact, I'm sure it is, if only because I don't feel quite so sick every time I look at the wound."

He wished that she hadn't read his journal, but now that she had...wAh, Penelope," he began, startled by the hesitancy in his own voice.

She looked up. "I'm sorry. Am I pressing too hard?"

For a moment Colin did nothing but blink. How was it possible he'd never noticed how big her eyes were? He'd known they were brown, of course, and... No, come to think of it, if he were to be honest with himself, hewould have to admit that if asked earlier this morning, he'd not have been able to identify the color of her eyes.

But somehow he knew that he'd never forget again.

She eased up on the pressure. "Is this all right?"

He nodded. "Thank you. I would do it myself, but it's my right hand, and—"wSay no more. It's the very least I can do, after... after ..." Her eyes slid slightly to the side, and he knew she was about to apologize another time.wPenelope," he beganagain.wNo, wait!" she cried out, her dark eyes flashing with... could it be passion? Certainly not the brand of passion with which he was most familiar.But there were other sorts, weren't there? Passion for learning.

Passion for... literature?wI must tell you this," she said urgently. "I know it was unforgivably intrusive of me to look at your journal. I was just ... bored... and waiting ... and I had nothing to do, and then I saw the book and I was curious."

He opened his mouth to interrupt her, to tell her that what was done was done, but the words were rushing from her mouth, and he found himself oddly compelled to listen.wI should have stepped away the moment I realized what it was," she continued, "but as soon as I read one sentence I had to read another! Colin, it was wonderful! It was just like I was there. I could feel the water—I knew exactly the temperature. It was so clever of you to describe it the way you did. Everyone knows exactly what a bath feels like a half an hour after it has been filled."

For a moment Colin could do nothing but stare at her. He'd never seen Penelope quite so animated, and it was strange and ... good, really, that all that excitement was over his journal.wYou—you liked it?"he finally asked.wLiked it? Colin, I loved it! I—"wOw!"

In her excitement, she'd started squeezing his hand a bit too hard. "Oh, sorry," she said perfunctorily.wColin, I really must know. What was the danger? I couldn't bear to be left hanging like that."wIt was nothing," he said modestly. "The page you read really wasn't a very excitingpassage."wNo, it was mostly description," she agreed, "but the description was very compelling and evocative. I could see everything. But it wasn't—oh, dear, how do I explain this?"

Colin discovered that he was very impatient for her tofigure out what she was trying to say.wSometimes," she finally continued, "when one reads a passage of description, it's rather... oh, I don't know ... detached. Clinical, even. You brought the island to life. Other people might call the water warm, but you related it to something we all know and understand. It made me feel as if I were there, dipping my toe in right alongside you."

Colin smiled, ridiculously pleasedby her praise.wOh! And I don't want to forget—there was another brilliant thingI wanted to mention."

Now he knew he must be grinning like an idiot. Brilliant brilliantbrilliant. What a good word.

Penelope leaned in slightly as she said, "You also showed the reader how you relate to the scene and how it affects you. It becomes more than mere description because we see how you react to it."

Colin knew he was fishing for compliments, but he didn't much care as he asked, "What do you mean?"wWell, if you look at—May I see the journalto refresh my memory?"wOf course," he murmured, handing it to her. "Wait, let mefind the correct page again."

Once he had done so, she scanned his lines until she found the section she was looking for. "Here we are. Look at this part about how you are reminded that England is your home."wIt's funny how travel can do that to aperson."wDo what to a person?" she asked, her eyes widewith interest.wMake one appreciate home," he said softly.

Her eyes met his, and they were serious, inquisitive."And yet you still like to go away."

He nodded. "I can't help it. It's like a disease."

She laughed, and it sounded unexpectedly musical. "Don't be ridiculous," she said. "A disease is harmful.

It's clear that your travels feed your soul." She looked down to his hand, carefully peeling the napkin back to inspect his wound. "It's almost better," she said.wAlmost," he agreed. In truth, he suspected the bleeding had stopped altogether, but he was reluctant to let the conversation end. And he knew that the moment she was done caring for him, she would go.

He didn't think she wanted to go, but he somehow knew that she would. She'd think it was the proper thing to do, and she'd probably also think it was what he wanted.

Nothing, he was surprised to realize, could be further fromthe truth.

And nothing could have scared him more.

CHAPTER 6

Everyone has secrets.

Especially me.

Lady Whistledown's Society Papers,14 April 1824

I wish I'd known you kept a journal," Penelope said, reapplying pressure to his palm.wWhy?"wI'm not sure," she said with a shrug. "It's always interesting to find out that there is more to someonethan meets the eye, don't you think?"